


Poutine

by TuppingLiberty



Series: Tlib February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [9]
Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Bowling Alley AU, Jack and Eugene are adorable, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Eugene ducks into a bowling alley that promises poutine while on a trip to England, and discovers something - someone - else instead.February Ficlet challenge day 12: Bowling Alley auOne month. Twenty-eight prompts. Twenty-eight pairings. One ficlet a day. Write Fast.





	Poutine

There was absolutely no reason for Eugene to duck into the bowling alley for lunch; he was here to review the haute cuisine and hidden gems of the English countryside, not eat greasy fries and drink a loonie pitcher. 

Except the sign outside actually  _ said _ ‘poutine’ on it, and dammit, Eugene was missing home. And it wasn’t like Eugene was a food snob, or anything. It was just his job. And who didn’t like a pile of greasy fries covered in gravy and a pitcher of cheap beer? Recipe for a great Saturday night, in his opinion. Sure, it was three in the afternoon, but he had no dinner reservations, anyway.  


The place was...not hopping, to say the least. There was one small party of bowlers, a sign on the shoe rental that said “go to the bar for service” and...that was it. It had that bowling alley smell, though, and that feeling of liminal space, like Eugene had been transported back in time. He half expected to see a girl in a poodle skirt walk by as he headed back to the bar area. 

There was only one person here, too. A tall, skinny guy with a jovial smile and ginger hair, about his age, was wiping down the counter as Eugene walked up. “What can I get ya?”

Eugene slid into one of the bar stools, resting his prosthetic up on the neighboring stool rung. He’d walked a lot today, and a little grimace passed over his face. “How’s the poutine?”

The bartender wrinkled his nose. “Kinda shite, to be honest.”

Eugene laughed. “Then why do you advertise it outside?”

“Brought you in here, didn’t it?” The man’s eyes twinkled. 

“What do you recommend, then?”

“Oh, well. The steak and kidney pie is pretty good today.”

“I’m beginning to see why there aren’t that many people in here.”

The man waved that away. “Just a bad time of day. It’ll be hopping tonight.” 

“But the poutine won’t be?”

“Well, see, the thing is, I’ve had the real stuff, over in Canada, yeah? So mine… well. It’s shite.” He shrugged, and Eugene was disarmed by his affable nature. 

He held out a hand. “Eugene Woods. Canadian. So, uh, I appreciate the heads up.” 

“Jack Holden.” Jack took his hand and warmly shook it. “So, steak and kidney pie?”

“Sure. And a pint of your favorite.” 

“Be right back.” 

When Jack returned, he was carrying two pies out, and he sat next to Eugene, instead. “I hope you don’t mind? I thought I’d get myself one, and we could chat about Canada.” 

Eugene surprised himself when he blushed. “Oh, yeah, sit down, please. That’d be great.” 

“So, have you been to Niagara Falls?” Jack sort of leaned his head on his chin and focused all of his attention on Eugene, making Eugene squirm. 

“I haven’t, actually. I’m from the West Coast. BC.”

“Ohhh, I’ve heard that’s lovely. I’ve never been, though. But Niagara. Well, it changes a man, I think.” 

Eugene found himself grinning. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to look at all that water and not think ‘well, fuck, I’m small.’”

Eugene snorted. “I guess that’s true.” 

Jack reached over the counter to pour them two pints, then held his up for a toast. “Cheers, to mother nature.” 

“Cheers,” Eugene said with a laugh, “to new acquaintances.” 

Their glasses clinked, and they drank, eyes on each other. Flustered, Eugene broke into the pie to taste it. It satisfied the greasy-salty-gravey-y taste he was looking for, and he complimented Jack on it. 

Though Eugene was flustered, Jack was just about the easiest person he’d ever talked to. Over the course of pie and beer, they discussed Canada, England, video games, and weapons of choice for the zombie apocalypse. 

“Cricket bat, hands down.” 

“Really?” Eugene scoffed.

“Hey, it worked for Shaun. And Negan, kind of. I mean, Lucille is a baseball bat, but, same difference.”

“Fair. I’m probably toast,” he murmured, clunking his prosthetic against the wood of the bar. “But if all else fails, I’ll take Betsy off and use her as a weapon. I’m not going down without a fight.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Jack grinned at him, and it made Eugene feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Wait, is your prosthetic named Daisy?”

“No, I just thought that weapons were supposed to have names.”

Jack laughed, a hearty laugh that made Eugene smile. “Well, I’ve got your back, should it happen. Two are better than one, aye?”

Eugene looked down at his pint, which was almost empty, and rubbed his thumb over some of the condensation. “Do you ever sit down and have a conversation with someone and never want it to end?” he asked softly, not looking Jack in the face. 

“I get off at 5,” Jack returned, and Eugene’s eyes cut up to his. 

“I’m not- I mean. I’m not- uh. Asking as a buddy.” Eugene felt bold, but swallowed nervously. 

Jack leaned in closer, stilling Eugene’s thumb on the glass with a light finger. “I’m not telling as a buddy, either. I get off at 5. Can I take you out?”

Eugene blushed, but held the eye contact. “I’d like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
